Reciprocity
by La Vita a Colori
Summary: It starts with a kiss, but of course two genii must make things way too complicated for the simple world surrounding them called college. LightxL AU one-shot. Please give it a try; it's my favorite of my own stories. COMPLETE! REVIEW! ;D


**Disclaimer:** I cry myself to sleep at night because I don't own the Death Note franchise nor have millions of dollars and fans worldwide.

**Author's Note:** Oh, my, god. This took me a while. It's an AU, LightXL, okay? But I think it's my favorite story of mine (so far *winks*). But really, I have been lagging on the other ones, so I thought I'm try it out and it's better than I expected. I kind of based the idea off this amazing one I read a couple months back (called Technicalities, I think), but it blew my mind. Please, please, **please REVIEW!! **I will love you forever if you do!! And bake cuppie cakes. Yummmmyyy. Well, I'm off to the farmer's market now. G'night ladies and gents!

* * *

**Reciprocity**

"_Pull out the fear of silence  
Put out the need for guidance  
Put out your own devices  
And don't be afraid of the cold  
Afraid of the cold  
Afraid of the time  
You've got nowhere to go but here."_

_Silversun Pickups "Growing Old is Getting Old"_

_

* * *

  
_

Light walked into the classroom at the far left end of the hallway on the second floor of the Philosophy Building, taking his seat in the middle of the seminar room. Not the front seat. No, that would look too eager. He took the second seat from the front, right in the middle. Like normal.

He checked his watch; the nice gold plated one his father had gotten him for his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't the most expensive timepiece, but he admired the thought put into it, for it was not overtly flashy or too expensive. It fit him well.

It was seven twenty-eight in the morning on a warm Tuesday in August.

Class was to start at seven thirty, and, per normal, there were few people in the room.

So, he checked his notes aimlessly, flipping through the many pages he had already committed to memory, correctly small flaws in his writing, and sometimes re-writing phrases in German or Russian, just to pass the time.

Light generally had free time.

He was a genius.

As another minute passed, people started filling the room. There were many people and it was a little crowded for his liking, but being a general education class, it was to be expected. Psychology 100 was going to come easy for Light; he had already read Freud, Milgram, and Maslow the summer before and within the first two months of class, had been lavished upon by his professor. It was normal. This was how it should be.

He smiled at Misa Amane and Kiyomi Takada as they came in, settling themselves close to him. He knew they both liked him and had been dating both for a while before making Misa his permanent girlfriend. It wasn't that he particularly liked her over Kiyomi; she was less intelligent and far easier to control. Light was all about control. He was the king and he had everything working in the palm of his hand.

Life was good.

Teru Mikami came sauntering in; his gaze lingering on Light for longer than the boy was comfortable with before setting up his laptop near the wall, when he could plug it into the outlet, most likely working on some legal documents. The man was close to graduating, but had not yet taken some of the G.E. courses, which was why he had gone into this one. Or the fact that Light was in it; he had seemed to go out of his way to run into the auburn haired man more and more often after a particularly intriguing debate they had engaged in during a political seminar class.

That was fine by Light; he was the king.

And, right on time came stumbling Touta Matsuda, a goof of a man. But it seemed that what he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in personality. He was extremely optimistic and another person Light held tightly by a string, for he was a big gossiper and had already spread Light's reputation into full swing.

Dumb, but useful.

Matsuda beamed when he caught sight of Light, taking the seat to the right of him seeming to rifle Misa's feathers, and saying, "Good morning, Light! I don't know how you are able to make it so early in the morning… They should have had this class in the afternoon because I almost missed my alarm again!" He grinned.

Light returned the greeting and swept one leg over the other. "It's not that hard actually. I bet you were working hard on the assignment for today. By the way, did you need help finishing up the Calculus II assignment? I noticed you were having difficulty with differential equations the last class." Just the norm. Matsuda would ask for Light's help, he would give it graciously; Matsuda would keep talking about Light's generosity. Just like a king.

Much to Light's inward chagrin though, Matsuda shook his head and said, "Oh, no! You don't need to worry about that! I was trying to figure it out this morning, but there was a guy… I think he's a foreign exchange student or something because he had a slight accent, but he helped me out a bunch! He was kind of awkward, but definitely smart. A genius, like you!"

As Matsuda beamed, Light inwardly questioned who this mysterious person moving in on his territory could be when Matsuda pointed happily to the door and whispered, "Him! Him! That's the guy who helped me this morning!"

Light looked up from Matsuda's smile to take in the image of the strangest looking man he had ever seen. He was absolutely revolting. Actually, no, his features were not revolting. If he changed his shirt (which should have been white) and pants (two sizes too large) and maybe spent some more time sleeping (considering the gaunt circles around his eyes) and worked more on hygiene (his hair seemed a mass of unruly twigs), then he would have been up to Light's par.

But Light fumed as he watched this man seat himself far to the left, right next to the open window, four seats from the front. Light stretched, turning slightly to view more of the pale man, but was slightly startled to see said man staring directly at him. He was perched on two feet atop his chair, barefoot, gnawing at a nonexistent thumb nail, black and unblinking eyes fixed on Light for what seemed like an eternity, before he turned his gaze to out the window.

Light felt the spell break as he became slightly irritated that the other man had not focused on him longer, and followed the gaze out the window to where he saw a dove sitting peacefully on the branch closest to the mysterious exchange student's seat.

Looking back to the man, he saw softer features overtake him, staring wistfully at the white dove, suddenly out of the classroom, his mentality somewhere far, far away where he could find tranquility. And as Light turned back to face the teacher who had entered the room, he found himself both disgusted and intrigued.

* * *

Light was furious.

Not only had L Lawliet, the odd exchange student from God knows where, battled Light's point of view during debates in every class they had together (which was far too many by either man's standards), but for the past month he had scored higher marks on tests, quizzes and term papers. In fact, L was apparently so smart (according to his Political Science professor) that he had not missed a single mark on any assignment throughout the semester. It appeared all the staff was taken with him as a genius, even though they were wary of him as a person.

Light was furious.

How _dare_ he.

Light was the one to be spoken fondly of. Light was the one the teacher's favored. Light was the one the students went to for help on their assignments. _Not_ L Lawliet. The man couldn't even brush his hair!

But still…

The more he heard about the other genius, the more he wondered. When he had seen the man staring out the window that first day in psychology, he didn't know what to think. L's face was still complacent, but his eyes—they were sparkling with something immense, as if his eyes were the windows to an alternate universe that told of all the secrets of human life. They were knowing eyes. And Light wanted to know. The more he wanted to pick apart his brain and watch the pieces crumble down until the man finally broke. He wanted to break that indifferent face and resume his rightful position as king.

And so he watched L. He saw his routine, daily patterns and habits, trying to find a way to shatter it.

He found his opportunity upon returning to the political science classroom from working out to gather his book bag and other set of clothing. He walked in and the pale man was sitting with his laptop propped up on the desk, picking incessantly at it with two fingers. It was too fast to be normal. Too fast a style of typing for just two fingers. Light grabbed his things quickly, grimacing slightly at the _clack, clack, clack_ that met his ears without pause.

So, as he turned to make his way out the door, he noticed there were no other people in the room. They were completely alone.

Light took action before he thought through it in his mind and, with his right hand's index finger, pushed the top of L's laptop down very, very slowly, effectively stopping the typing as L's large, depthless eyes focused on his face, wide and unabashed, and Light could see within them irritation. It immediately filled him with a spark of glee to see the pinprick of emotion from the man. But it would not suffice. He wanted him discomposed. He wanted more.

So, very slowly, he leaned over the desk, barely registering the small intake of breath before he closed his lips over pale, deceptively soft ones. A small kiss, fleeting but certain, was given before he righted himself again and walked out the door as if nothing had occurred.

L stared straight ahead of himself, a shocked expression on his face as he tried to take in the extent of human contact, which for him was very little. He wiped at his lips despondently.

He did **not** like people invading his space. He didn't like people at all. They were all but useless; drones programmed by the mass media, religion or other sorts of ideologies of the time and politics. So, he shied away from them. He knew that the person in his class known as Light Yagami was intelligent like he was, and it made him happy to be able to argue intelligently with someone upon the political arena and other such nonsense.

But he didn't know what to think about this apparant rivalry. This **game**.

So, as he went back to his typing, irritated that he was interrupted, he muttered to himself, "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…"

* * *

Light sauntered into the early morning psychology class on a Tuesday in August, overtly noticing that the weather had cooled off. It was approximately seven twenty-eight. The norm.

Yet, he was stood in the doorway, slightly irritated.

In the very middle row, second seat from the front seat sat L Lawliet.

That seat was **Light's** seat. **Always**. In every one of his classes.

So, Light strutted over to the hunched man, who seemed to be entranced with his Tootsie roll pop and kept making slurping sounds as he licked and sucked. And was he _purring_?

Light stood looking down at him, but L didn't even turn to face him. L sat there, silent and contemplative, enjoying his early morning snack.

Light cleared his throat.

Still nothing.

As it became seven thirty, they could hear the approaching of footsteps and chattering. So, Light sent one last blank look L's way before turning and taking L's normal seat by the window.

The day continued on, and to each class Light went to, L would be already there, in his seat. The second seat from the front, right in the middle. Each time paying no heed to Light's glare. Even at lunchtime and breaks, L was in Light's normal seat in the Student Lounge or the tree he normally napped under out in the quad. It was rather irritating, but Light kept with it. He would go to the places L normally would, and no one seemed to notice the change. If Light wanted to do what that weird guy from class wanted to do, so be it. The pattern continued on for just a few days before Light could not concentrate without his eyes slipping to the crooked figure known as L Lawliet.

* * *

L was quite learned in languages. He could read any romance language you would so choose as well as about fifty other lesser known languages. In total, he was fluent in approximately sixty-eight languages. He disn't pride himself in this fact. It was the norm.

When he reads, he takes pleasure in reading the books in their original language, whether it is Portuguese, Korean, French, or Navajo. He still thinks he is the only one who can read Volgare.

The pale man shuffled back to his book bag and to his seat, excuses me, _Light's_ seat, in the Student Lounge from getting a cupcake. They were delicious and only served on Friday mornings. L loves cupcakes. L loves sweets in general.

So, when he arrived back at his seat, he didn't notice right away that something was different about his book bag. It had originally been flopped on the table, but after finishing half of the cupcake, he realized that the strap was draped over the side of the table. **Not** on top of the bag like how he had left it.

L was always a cautious beign, so he narrowed his eyes, looking warily to see if anything else was off about his belongings.

Slowly, he took two fingers to peel back the cover and pulled out his one notebook (with nothing but doodles in it since he commits all the information to memory), a pen (which is blue and one he rather fancies), and his copy of Boccaccio's _Decameron_.

He peeled apart the pen, finding nothing wrong. He replaced the ink cartridge and screwed back on the cap.

He flipped through the pages of his notebook, being met with only blank pages and his apparently sporadic doodling.

So, he began flipping through his book and on page forty-three, he found something out of place. The capital letter "S" has been highlighted in a neat little square. He paused as his brain starts to process the implications. He continued flipping through the pages and stopped on one that has another highlighted letter. Going through the whole book, every twelve pages contained a capitalized and highlighted letter. When he put the letters together, they spell ed out "S-O-C-R-A-T-E-S".

"Socrates?" He said out loud.

L could only think of one person he had enough contact with at the school to do something as silly as vandalize his property. Light Yagami. But Socrates? He pondered the meaning a moment.

Socrates was an ancient Greek philosopher who was put on trial on a charge of impiety and corrupting the youth of Athens. Majority rule said he either had to give up his principles or be put to death. He chose to drink poison and died.

L narrowed his eyes as he realized that Light was setting boundaries.

This school was his Athens, and L was his Socrates.

L closed the book slowly, readjusting his face to completely blank as he walked to his next class, where he sat in his regular seat, located next to the window, where he paid no mind to a baffled Light who was able to again sit in the king's throne in their classes together.

* * *

As Light placed his book bag down onto the soft, plush grass, he realized he had forgotten to return a book to the library. Checking his watch, he figured he could make it if he runs. So, he placed his bag further into the shade of the tree, figuring it would be safe from prying eyes as he ran off.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned to find his bag propped neatly against the foot of the tree.

His footsteps slowed as he approached it and he quickly opened the satchel, flipping it over and spilling the contents on the ground. Everything looked the same. The notebooks were the same color, the textbooks fresh and crisp and all his personal belongings were still there.

Yet, it was once he opened the first notebook when he realized that L had not given up their game when he had moved back to his usual chair. He had just raised the bet.

All of his used notebooks were gone, replaced with brand new ones. Everything was blank. Half of his school year was gone. It was the same with the textbooks. All the post-its he had in them as well as the marginalia he had made had been taken. As he began pulling out his pencils, he realized they were all unsharpened. Plain, _new_ wooden pencils. Wondering how far L would go, he pulled the phone out of the side pocket and sighed heavily. All of his numbers were erased as well as any pictures.

He eyed his laptop warily before picking it up and powering it on.

After a minute of strained silence, he realized the game was far from over.

His hard drive had been wiped clean. All files, data, financial information—gone. And on his desktop background in scrawled black handwriting (most likely made in Paint), was written: "CAESAR".

So, chuckling, he placed everything back into the bag, and mumbled, "Et tu, Brute?"

* * *

L shuffles into his first afternoon class, scratching one bare foot with the other as he delights to find his normal seat vacant. There are some people spread throughout the class, chattering happily, and he spots Light Yagami in his peripherals, tutoring Matsuda in something or other. He could swear that Light smirked when he caught L's eye, but it was just as quickly disposed of.

He placed his book bag down gracefully onto the desk and heard it creak slightly.

He raised a nonexistent eyebrow, but shook it away as the professor entered the room.

Sitting down, he heard another creak, and just as the professor was telling everyone to settle down, L's chair and desk fell apart completely. He landed harshly on his back, legs still propped upwards over the seat as the legs sprawled out underneath him and his book bag met the same fate when the desk collapsed. It occurred to him quickly that **someone** had taken away all the nuts and bolts.

He heard laughter fill the room and his teacher ran over to him, staring down and asking him useless questions like if he had a concussion. Obviously it would take a bigger fall to cause a concussion, so L sat up suddenly, asking the professor to kindly continue with the lesson as there was nothing the matter with him.

His teacher slowly went back to the front of the room, jumping slightly as L pushed the clutter behind himself before propping up in his usual position on the ground and opened his laptop.

As he looked imploringly at the teacher to continue the lesson, he couldn't help but hear Misa's giggling and Light's breathy laugh from across the room.

* * *

Light was having a rough start one morning, so he was unable to make himself coffee at home.

Though it was not the most well made brew, he opted to get his Tall extra hot Americano at the Starbucks at school, thanking the flirty girl at the cash register gracefully.

Seeing as he had about twenty minutes before class, he propped himself on one of the benches next to the art department as he took joy in watching the sculptors work in the morning. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

The norm.

He took the cup in one hand while taking the other and slowly peeled the lid back to blow softly across the black liquid before taking a sip.

Yet, right before his lips touched the side of the container, a hand shot out from behind him with what appeared to be the sugar dispenser from Starbucks. The little green goddess smiled at him from the side of the container. The sugar was then quickly poured into his small cup of coffee.

As soon as the pale hand deemed the amount satisfactory, it was pulled back and he could hear feet shuffling as the person walked away. He didn't even want to turn around, for he already knew who it was.

Looking into the now granular liquid, he blew across the top once again before sipping it and promptly spitting the contents out onto the grass next to himself.

* * *

It was Friday and L was stoked.

Of course, it didn't show on his face, for L Lawliet was a very private person and never really had felt the need to express his feelings to anyone. But today was a good day because on Fridays the much sought after chocolate cupcakes were sold in the morning in the Student Lounge where he resides before the campus becomes too crowded with other people.

Not only are they chocolate cupcakes today, but they have caramel drizzle on top and for L it is the more sugar the better.

He let out a soft sound of glee as he looked at the small cupcake in his hand; unknowingly, a small grin was plastered across his face. He peeled back one side of the cupcake paper, then another, and then the final one before throwing the paper over his shoulder and taking the glistening and sickeningly sweet treat between his forefinger and thumb.

A small pink tongue appeared to wet his lips with a glossy sheen as he prepared to take a small bite out of the top.

All of a sudden, Light Yagami appears in the chair next to him, a blank look adorning the golden man's face as he wrapped his left arm around the other man's body to grasp the pale hand holding the small, chocolate cupcake.

L's eyes widened as he became slightly frozen in shock from the physical contact that he did not take action as Light leaned forward and ate his entire cupcake, right from the palm of L's hand. A small drizzle of caramel escaped his lips, but a voluptuous tongue quickly took care of the mess.

When the treat has disappeared, L found himself even more dazed when Light tightened his grip on the paler man's wrist and took each finger into his mouth, sucking very lightly as he cleansed them of the chocolate and caramel.

Without a word, Light stood up from the seat, fixed his shirt, and walked slowly from the room and, after he heard the door close, L squeezed his fist into a ball.

They were done selling cupcakes for the day.

* * *

Light worked out at the university's gym three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He didn't think himself too lean, but he tried to shy away from anything that would make his muscles too prominent. He thought he had a good body, like a swimmers.

He shook his hair and water droplets glistened against tawny skin as he returned from the showers to his locker. Pulling it open, he took off the shirt he had been wearing and grabbed his long sleeved, crisp, white collared shirt. As he pulled one arm on, he heard a small sound.

Eyebrows drawn together, he put the other arm through and heard the same ripping sound again.

Mouth hanging ajar slightly, he quickly took off the shirt and inspected it.

The seams connecting the arms to the body portion of the shirt had been cut and the arms had been effectively torn off as he put the shirt on.

Studying the garment more, he realized all of the seams had tiny, precise incisions along them and if he pulled slightly on them, they would be torn apart. He checked the buttons and, even with the flick of his finger, they fell splattering to the ground.

Slightly flustered, he looked to the beige slacks and, with much vexation, found them too destroyed.

He let out a breathy laugh and replaced the slightly sweaty shirt onto his torso. He threw the ripped clothing unceremoniously into the trash bin next to the door as he strode out to his afternoon class.

* * *

L liked the library and was usually found in the philosophy section, which was usually dusty and secluded. Just the way he likes it. The norm. No one inhabited it except for him. In fact, he inhabited there the better half of the day. He did not own a car and was against public transportation as the buses and trains were too crowded during daylight hours for one who shied from physical contact.

L also rarely slept. Thus, the bags under his eyes are explained.

So, he was not surprised that he had passed out (most likely from exhaustion; it tended to happen every few days) while in the middle of reading a declaration by Descarte. Not that Descarte was boring. It Descarte was boring, L would not be reading it. He had passed out from exhaustion.

His eyes survey the scene before him as a shiver passed through his body.

It was not that he had a sixth sense or anything of the sort, but L was good at reading people as well as scenes, overtly noticing when things had changed or misplaced and could easily tell what action had taken place, where others just could not.

He shivered because something was amiss.

It was very subtle.

So much so that he almost did not catch it.

There was a slight change in how the air smelled. It was faint, but L noticed it, wondering if someone had passed by. But no, if they had passed by, the circulation from the open window he sat next to would have made the scent disappear.

It was sweet, but spicy. Apples and… cinnamon?

Somehow, it was a familiar scent, and he stood up slowly, bones popping and creaking as he was released from the normal, crunched stance he knelt in. Yet, as soon as he stood up, the book that had been propped in his lap fell off.

He had forgotten about it.

He must really have been exhausted.

But it was not the soft thud of the book that caught him off guard and caught him looking at it quizzically. It was the _clack_ that fell next to the dark green bound book, sitting with the pages splayed.

Leaning down, a forefinger and thumb flipped the book over, inwardly rejoicing in it still being on the page he was on. It wasn't that he had never read that speech. It was just the fact that it was in German. It was a harsh language and when you read Descarte in German, it gave a different feel to the whole affair. It changed it. Language changed it.

Just the way L like it.

Changing.

Under the book, as he bent down closer, was a small, clear bottle of what appeared to be cologne. It was a deep golden color, the exact _same_ color as the caramel that was on the cupcake that L did not have the luxury to eat. The substance was thick and the writing on it was swerved and in French. _Chateau something or other_. The bottle was all clean and shining and smooth, even though it had been dropped and the liquid splashed quietly back and forth as L raised the bottle to his nose, wafting the smell towards himself with the opposite hand.

Apples and cinnamon.

It was a familiar smell to L. It was **his** smell.

This was it. This was getting too close to home. L was wealthy and he knew this specific cologne could only be acquired if you ordered it from the manufacture in Marseilles. He knew; he had been there. He knew that only one person who wore such an expensive brand was looking to preserve that high class sway.

This was not a treaty, not a stalemate.

It was a gift, an offering, a prayer, a subtle suggestion that there were other ways of dueling.

He flipped the bottle over in his hand a couple times, before popping the lid off slowly, adjusting the nozzle and pressed down.

* * *

It was five o'clock exactly as Misa and Light exited their last class of the day together. Daylight savings time was approaching so the lights in the quad had yet to turn on even though the sun was already flowing towards the western world. Everything was bathed in soft glowing gold. The shadows arched throughout the trees and hallways, creating vast spaces of dark and light, trampling over normalcy.

The _clack, clack_ of Misa's black heels resounded throughout the vacant corridor as she grasped at Light's upper arm, talking about how she wished she wasn't going to go to the movies with Kiyomi tonight and would rather have hung out with Light.

Irritated a little by her hold, he shook his head, swinging a smile her way and saying that she was just being a good friend and it was to be expected and that they would go out next time.

Yeah, right.

Light's mind itched and all thoughts stopped as he saw someone enter the door at the end of the corridor, radiance breaking through the gloom to shroud whoever it was in a silhouette till they came nearer.

Light's eyes widened slightly as his mouth turned into a hard line as it he recognized the hunched figure with no shoes as L Lawliet.

His mind itched and he was livid with fury and questioning and intrigue and _want_.

It had been exactly one month to the day since he had found the man snuggled peacefully into a corner, underneath the old wooden desk at the back of the library. It had taken Light a minute to compose himself as he stood silently staring at the ruffled man for almost fifteen minutes.

The man slept the way he sat. His hands were grasping pointy knees softly as a book rested on top of them. What book? Light couldn't even recall.

At first, he hadn't known if L was really asleep or not, but kneeling down, he saw the insomniac's eyes were closed and, with his mouth open a sliver, small puffs of sugary breath escaped evenly. So peaceful. Such bliss.

So fast was Light caught.

His shaking hand placed the brush it was holding back into his front pocket (he _was_ going to fix that unruly hair if it was the last thing he did), but opted to take out the small bottle of cologne he had ordered weeks ago which had finally arrived at his dorm just that afternoon.

He placed it slowly upon the crumpled pages of the book between L's palms, taking in the strange action for what it was. He had never given a gift with meaning. **This** had meaning. He himself wasn't exactly sure of what the meaning even entailed, but there it was.

So, here he was now, a whole month later, bathed in the golden light of sunset, trying to keep himself from either strangling or kissing the man who was walking towards him, not meeting Light's gaze, but training his orbs on the ground in front of himself, feet shuffling awkwardly and hands hanging loosely at his sides.

What was that on his hand?

As soon as Light had pondered the substance dripping from L's palm, for it too was bathed in that golden glow, L's hand had reached up to splay itself across Light's cheek, **hard**. So hard that Misa gasped and released Light's arm to cover her own mouth as the sound of flesh meeting flesh permeated the hallway.

_SLAP_.

He could feel the gooey substance as it gripped at his face and dribbled slightly down his chin before he had time to register that the hand was moving down, down, _down_, so very slowly down his neck and across the chest clothed in a crisp white shirt. Smearing. Devastating.

Then, the hand was gone and Light could move again.

Misa's voice was there, but it was far off, replaced by the chiming of bells from the campanile across the quad, chiming so very loudly. He took a hand and pulled some of the goo from his face before looking quizzically at the substance. It was soft and red, with sugar granules crunching beneath his fingertips. He could barely breathe. Jam. He tasted it. Strawberry. L's scent.

He realized the other man had not even looked him in the eye. What _nerve_.

Then, the crushing smell assaulted his senses, as if on L's cue. It traversed its own path to his nose, through his trachea and down into his lungs, over the overwhelmingly powerful artificial strawberry and into his system, alerting every part of his body, forcing it was deep into his soul.

Apples and cinnamon.

It had been exactly one month to the day since he had given L his cologne.

L was wearing his scent.

He was wearing L's scent.

Switching. Swirling. Traversing. Compressing. Compelling. Inviting?

He could feel his mind on the verge of breaking. Wait, hadn't he wanted to make L's mind break? When did _that_ change? Did he really want to know? Was it really the time to think about it?

Misa's voice was in his ear and he looked to her for a moment, face blank and a laugh so pure bubbled forth at the look on her face. Did she not find this funny too? He shook his head slightly and looked at her again, a smile (a real smile) adorning his face, half covered in gold and the other half covered in red, saying, "I'm sorry. I think it's time we broke up."

Leaving her appalled, he turned on his heel, rushing the way L had gone.

His heart hurt.

* * *

L noticed the footsteps following behind him. his every nerve was wearing thin, sharp exhalations escaped him, but he kept his walking pattern in check. The strawberry jam had been a present sent from someone back home in England and he thought it would be appropriate for the matter at hand. He mentally reminded himself to send a thank-you card.

He walked slowly, shuffling because his feet were not clad in protection. The feet following behind him slowed down to his pace too, not coming to walk next to him, but behind. Was he close? Or far away? Was he watching L's movements? Did he see the apprehension? The uncertainty? Did he notice the apples and cinnamon?

_Drip, drip, drip._

The strawberry jam clung to L's left hand and halfway up his forearm, staining the now off-white shirt even further as it clung to pale skin. Deep and red. Blood or roses, or passion.

He exited the campus and walked two blocks down the main road before turning left and in three blocks to his apartment building. It was rather small, but L lived alone. He was rich, but that didn't mean he always enjoyed the niceties of the wealthy. Those people were too blasé and too much for him. He didn't even like people.

He climbed the stairs slowly, making sure his feet put pressure on each step that creaked, attempting to grind on Light's nerves. His own nerves were on end and he thought that Light should suffer the same consequences as he. The sound was a welcomed distraction and he paused on the last step to sway back and forth slightly, creaking side to side, left to right.

Hand dripping strawberry jam. _Drip, drip, drip._

Deep and red. Blood or roses, or passion.

* * *

Light's breathing was so heavy and it was taking all his concentration to breath at all.

He had followed the pale man out of the campus. Did he live alone? Not in the dorms? Well, he could fathom why L preferred it that way. People were too much for him. Way too much. He did not want to stand and walk next to the man, although it must have looked strange to pedestrians, seeing two college students covered in strawberry jam slowly striding down the street, one after the other in a trance. Not like Light cared. He was a little scared to get to close to the body in front of him. He might be pushed back, put at an arm's length or he might see the expression of L's face.

Would he see so deeply into the emotions rocking L's form?

Or would he see nothing?

It was frightening.

He wanted to laugh out loud at the apartment L stayed in. It was rather dingy and in a shady area. He felt like he should help the man find a new place to stay. One which would keep them both safe from harm.

But the place felt just as warm as the sunset glistening on his skin.

It was... special.

L paused at the top of the stairs to rock back and forth and Light could feel his breath hitch. Was he thinking twice about this? Was he going to send Light away? No, no, no, no, **no**. That would not do. So, Light stared at the back of L's head, imploring without really consciously knowing he was that L just keep going.

Much to his relief, L continued on to the last apartment on the third floor on the left.

Light was standing at the end of the hallway watching the body disappear into the blackness of his home. His breathing was labored. It was so much. He slowly walked forward, noticing the door was left open. He also noticed that there were no numbers on this door. It was blank. As if it was... special. But he didn't care so much about that as the fact that it was left _open_. It was a whisper of an invitation, expressing the things that L could not say with his mouth.

Light felt his hand twitch as he walked across the threshold into the apartment, washed in darkness except for the window across from the balcony, which was facing the west. Light dropped his satchel on the ground and gently shut the door, flicking the lock.

He swallowed when he saw that L was sitting perched on the sofa, perpendicular to the window. The man didn't look over at his peer when Light walked towards him slowly, feet making not a sound on the plush carpet.

L had turned the television on to a British news channel of some kind, but it was obvious he was not watching it. He had a blank face, but his eyes were elsewhere. Light raised a finger and, shaking, turned off the television to bask them in gold and silence.

The tension in the air was staggering.

Light came to crouch down in front of L on the sofa, whom was frozen in his position, toes twitching anxiously and as Light's vision becomes accustomed to the darkness, he met L's own. They were glowing and wide. Was he frightened?

Light felt his own eyes soften as his hands acted on their own volition, taking some of the jam from his neck and, with his two thumbs, created two lines of red horizontally across L's cheeks, underneath each eye. War paint. Sweet, gooey war paint.

L's eyelids lower a bit and the air became thick as Light feels his heartbeat pick up pace. L had leaned forward, a tongue coming out slowly to lick the side of Light's cheek where the jam resides, an apology for slapping him too hard.

Light's hands are still tangled in black hair as the man on the sofa leaned forward more to meet their lips in the first kiss they've had in months.

Soft. Sweet. Gentle. Apples. Jam. Breath. Strawberry. Cinnamon. Gold.

Then, Light's hands take over again as one stayed in the feathery hair and the other ran itself up L's back, underneath his shirt, pushing it up gently, luxuriously caressing the soft skin as the hand applied pressure, luring one body down quietly onto the other.

And then, they were falling.

Tumbling backwards in limbs and sunlight and awe.

Falling, tumbling together.

* * *

It was six in the morning on a warm Tuesday in August.

Light was sitting on L's porch, resting his head back against the wall, clad in only his black boxers. He was watching a white dove preening on the railing. It cooed. Light smiled.

L emerged from the apartment with two mugs in hand, steam rising from the top of each, enticing. He too had no shirt, but was wearing a pair of blue sleeping pants. He took a moment to look into the cups and handed one to Light, who thanked him with a nod.

He crouched down next to the sprawled out Light and they sat for a minute, watching the cooing dove preen. After a few minutes, she took flight.

The sun was peeking through the mist.

Soft.

L swished the mug around with one hand, and then opened his mouth slowly.

"_Where will you be when the world ends?_"

Light swirled his coffee in turn and took a sip of the creamy looking liquid, overtly noticing that it had too much sugar in it. He swallowed it down, feeling the sugar sludge burn a path down his throat. He looked over into L's cup and felt his lip twitch as he saw the cup was filled with pitch black liquid.

His eyes rose to meet L's own. They held each others stare for a moment, and Light felt a prickling feeling travel up his spine and over his shoulders before resting itself deep within his chest, gripping the pumping organ there tightly in it's grasp. L's face was relaxed and thoughtful, looking at Light openly, lacking the condescending nature his eyes usually held. There was nothing secretive swirling in those depths. They were unabashed. They were free.

Light smiled warmly at the savvy man next to him.

"_Most likely right here, fighting you._"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm trippin' balls to Attack Attack! and Mos Def right now. O_O I was originally going to go into more lemony depths, but thought it would turn out more tasteful to leave it to the imagination. Hope you enjoyed it! **PLEASE REVIEW!! IT MAKES ME SMILE!! **Giggity.


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